


Burn The Words

by BatchSan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, F/F, Femslash, Incest, Propaganda, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-20 13:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatchSan/pseuds/BatchSan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose can See what others cannot. Roxy can Cleanse what others cannot. Together they burn away the Words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn The Words

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HSWC's Main Round 1 - Propaganda.

The town is too bright, too green; you’re suspicious of it even before the car ‘breaks down’ smack dab in the middle of Main Street, USA. Roxy’s good – she makes a big show of trying to get it restarted, whining and pouting up a storm as she turns the key a few times for show and then pops the hood to inspect the engine. Getting out of the car, you can see her expression is the perfect display of utter confusion as she stands there, twirling a finger in a strand of blonde hair. All she needs is some bubblegum and a pair of gaudy, expensive sunglasses to complete the look of a total helpless airhead.

You could never lower your dignity that low, but you admire Roxy’s dedication.

Passerbys on the sidewalks stop, mostly to watch, before two men step out of a coffee shop and approach, offering help. Thinking back, you can’t remember a single time a woman mechanic stepped forward in one of these small, out-of-the-way towns to offer assistance, or even any existing in these types of places. They seem to be mythological beings in these small towns.

“Oh thank goodness!” Roxy exclaims. “My little sister and I were on our way to visit our mom in Riverton when the car just died on us! Could you believe it? I hope there’s nothing too wrong with it!”

She smiles, bats her eyelashes, and it takes a surprising amount of willpower for you not to punch the guy that has slipped a too friendly arm over her shoulder. The other one is smiling in your direction and you could almost throw up with the effort it takes you to smile back. Still, they take the bait, the act gets you into the town under the guise of stranded women in need.

The repair work will take a day even though there’s nothing more wrong with the car than needing oil and you both sigh and call your ‘sick mother’, letting her know it’ll be another day, maybe two. One of the men that had come forward to help is the brother-in-law to the town’s mechanic, the other is the son of the owner of the sole hotel in town. It really couldn’t have worked out more perfectly than this, possibly the easiest town to get into since you both started five years ago.

“Did you see them?” Roxy asks that evening.

She’s slipping off her clothes in the bathroom and you’re doing a halfass job at pretending as though you’re not watching. Roxy makes a show of removing her stockings, tossing a smirk your way because she knows she’s being watched.

“Yes, I saw them,” you say, turning away and hoping you’re not blushing. “There was one on every other shop window, on the side of both the grocery store and postal service building, and even here in the room.”

“They’re always in the hotel rooms so that’s not a big surprise.”

Emerging from the bathroom with a towel around her body, you feel heat flood your cheeks. If you weren’t blushing before, you’re certainly doing so now. She flops down easily beside you on the lumpy hotel bed; she smells of pumpkin spice – how, you’ll never know.

“Where are they in the room?” she asks, leaning too much into your personal space.

It frustrates you that you can never tell whether she’s just toying with you or actually trying to flirt with you. 

“On the wall behind the television and on the ceiling above the bed,” you answer, trying to lean away from her.

Roxy seems to consider pushing her luck but gets up and walks calmly over to the ancient television set opposite the bed. She studies the wall even though she can’t see what I can See, but she can sense it if she focuses properly. Pressing her hand to the wall, she bows her head and murmurs low, words you can never quite pick up short of pressing your ear near her mouth – you’re pretty sure she does it on purpose, either to lure you in, or to effectively keep others from hearing the words. Maybe it’s better you don’t know, not that it’s relevant either way.

The glow only you can See begins to brighten, the wall seeming to come alive in a blaze of white light. There’re pictures and words there, many words, coming alive as Roxy continues to chant. It’s something normal people can’t see but that still manage to somehow influence their decisions. People call it propaganda, and it’s fitting, though where it comes from is unknown. Your sister and you call it Words because it’s easier to say, especially after you’ve both had a little too much to drink. 

The cities are infested with Words. Even the sidewalks seem to have them burned onto it. One Seer and Cleanser are not enough to clean up a city, but small towns are easy to do. They’re small victories, but you both like to think it’s better than none. Best part is that it’s permanent, the Words don’t come back after Roxy Cleanses them away. Bigger towns need repeat visits to Cleanse them properly because it’s hard to stick in one place for too long without suspicion growing. Normal people don’t understand what the two of you do and the less questions asked, the better.

With a shudder, Roxy drops her hands away from the wall. It’s nothing more than outdated wallpaper now in your eyes, as it should be. You can’t help but tip your head backward enough to see the Words still on the ceiling. 

_Reproduce_

_Marriage_

_Lust_

There’s also an image of a smiling man and woman standing at an altar. You’re not adverse to the image, but you don’t like the fuzzy way looking at the Words makes you feel. Being a Seer apparently does not make you immune to the influence of the propaganda, which is why it’s important for you to not stare too long at it. Dropping your head, you find Roxy giving you this look you can’t quite decipher. 

“What?” you ask.

“Just making sure you’re okay. I won’t be able to reach the Words on the ceiling until we set off the sprinklers in the building,” she says, gesturing halfheartedly at the small sprinkler nozzle above head. “Will you be okay sleeping until then?”

You shrug and stretch, more for show then your actual benefit. “I’ll simply have to lie on my stomach is all.”

A smirk plays at her lips. “Or have your face buried in the crook of someone’s neck.”

“Volunteering, are you?”

“Rosie, I’m all up and volunteering for that. Haven’t you been picking up all my subtle cues of volunteering all day?”

“You’re appalling sometimes Roxy. Go bathe already, I’m weary of your bullshit.”

A smile slips across your lips before you can turn your face away from her. Her hand is warm, almost hot, when it presses against the side of your face.

“Shower with me?” she asks. “More fun when there’s two rub-a-dubbing in the tub.”

“That’s an atrocious euphemism,” you reply, leaning into her hand.

“But it totally turned you on, didn’t it?”

“As much as a poor excuse for a euphemism can,” you sigh mournfully.

Roxy slides your hair away from your ear and nips the lobe, making you squeak a little in indignation, or what you hope seems like indignation.

“Turned on now?” she breathes into your ear.

“There’s a higher possibility, yes.”

“Good!”

Taking a firm hold of your hand, she pulls you off the bed and into the bathroom with her.

*

The clock’s alarm goes off at four in the morning, much to your chagrin. A duty, however, is a duty and with some effort, you extract yourself from Roxy’s limbs. Slipping into your clothes quickly, you pause to look over your sister’s sleeping form. She’s sprawled out on her back, drooling peacefully enough that you’ll regret waking her up in a moment. She’s also facing the ceiling, which according to your extensive research is one of the primary ways to be influenced by the Words, however, Roxy seems immune to them. You’re uncertain if it’s because of her status as a Cleanser or perhaps because she’s spent so much time knocking back alcohol that it’s somehow short-circuited something in her body’s receptors. There’s a small chance she could just be one of the few hundred unaffected by Words. One day you hope to discover which it is because it’s near maddening for you not to know.

“Roxy,” you say, shaking her shoulder.

She garbles something unintelligible and rolls over to her side. Waking Roxy is never an easy process. You jab her sharply with you knuckles on the small of her back and she grunts heavily, growling when she finally opens her eyes. 

“Shit, no need to be so rough,” she grumbles, rubbing her back.

“Become easier to wake up and I’ll consider it.”

“Ugh.”

“Just get dressed while I pack,” you say, poking her side and making her giggle despite herself.

Thanks to experience, she’s up and dressed and you’re all packed up in less than ten minutes. You slip the duffel bag with your combined few possessions over your shoulder and kiss Roxy on the cheek before exiting the room. The layout of the building is simple and with the aide of the required fire escape layout of the building near your bedroom door, you part ways with your sister. She disappears downstairs while you go off to the left of the second floor hallway. At the end is a laundry room, likely added for ease of washing the blankets, curtains, and towels from the several guest rooms on the second and third floors. 

Inside you find several blankets lined up for a wash in the morning and quickly spread them out over the floor. A spark from a lighter is all it takes to set the cloth on fire and you watch, with some hesitation, as it spreads quickly from cloth to cloth. By the time you turn away, the heat is prickling at the back of your neck. It feels comforting somehow. 

Downstairs, Roxy is lingering near the front desk, looking like she might be sleepwalking or really confused about something, another part of her act. Usually these places have a camera, but the owners are elderly and probably haven’t bothered much with modern technology like security cameras, but just in case, Roxy keeps up the ruse. You readjust the duffel bag’s strap on your shoulder as you move past her, eyes only meeting for a second. 

Five steps from the car, you hear the fire alarm go off. Swallowing back the trepidation growing at the back of your throat, you push onward to the car, unlocking the trunk and toss the duffel bag inside. The plan calls for you to sit inside the car and wait for Roxy to join you, but you can’t find the willpower to just idly wait as your sister attempts to Cleanse a burning building, sprinkler system or not. Stepping back inside, you find Roxy has moved from her spot, likely further inside the first floor; someone is shouting something from upstairs but it’s a man’s voice. A moment later, the sprinkler system comes to life as you dash through the downstairs area in search of your sister.

You find her, safe, in the kitchen. She’s run the tap, let it overflow onto the floor so that there is a large puddle at her feet. Here, she’s crouched down with both her hands in the puddle, sprinklers going off readily over her head. Her eyes are shut and she’s chanting, louder than she usually is, whether it’s to make up for the din filling the building or the excessive amount of water in the place is unclear. All that’s clear to you is that your sister is soaking wet and when she finally looks up and meets your eyes, you can’t resist a small gasp that escapes your mouth.

Roxy’s eyes are glowing white, the same white you see whenever you look at Words. She’s chanting still, louder, and you feel uneasy as you begin to catch snatches of what’s she saying. Things that sound latin maybe, but are heavy and definitely foreign, in-between words like, _hope_ , _sin_ , and _desist_. You’ve watched her Cleanse before, but never this. This is new, and you can feel the power wafting off of her, flowing through the water to the rest of building where it will Cleanse the Words hidden away on other walls and ceilings.

And then it’s over. Roxy gets to shaky legs, blinks several times, and takes your hand when you reach out for her.

“Are you okay?”

“Never been better,” she smiles, but her eyes are still glowing white, slowly fading back to the normal pink they usually are.

She holds you tightly and together you leave, finding other guests and the owners on your way outside. They seem alarmed, but unhurt. Good. 

*

Two weeks later, as per usual, you return to the small town. The last you had seen of it was as the sun began to rise in the sky, coloring the town with soft light. Roxy had Cleansed the school and postal office, then together you smashed the shop windows with Words etched into them. Today, the shop windows were repaired, save for one, but the shop had been dark and abandoned to begin with so it wasn’t likely an important thing to fix right away.

The townsfolk are milling about as they were the first day you had come here, but there is more bickering to be heard. The mechanic’s brother-in-law waves at Roxy when she drives the car past him, but the son of the hotel owners sneers at you. 

Just as you reached the edge of town, a building explodes somewhere behind you and there are angry shouts nearby. Your hand creeps into your sister’s as you both exchange smiles.

“Another successful Cleansing,” you say.

“Yep! Best Seer and Cleanser doing another bit of anarchic reworking of a town!”

“Without the Words, humanity will fail.” You pause, feeling sad. “But there’s still so many towns to Cleanse.”

“Don’t worry, Rosie, we’ll get them.”

Roxy kisses your knuckles and you close your eyes in contentment.


End file.
